Gemotions

The tiny room felt like a cage. He’d barely slept since he realized. The certainty was a lead weight in his stomach. The casual way she’d asked about his family, about his aspirations, now seemed loaded, each word a carefully constructed question.

He picked at the loose threads of his worn-out jeans, avoiding eye contact when she walked by. He felt transparent, stripped bare. Her easy laughter, which used to be a comfort, now felt like a taunt.

The air hung heavy with the unspoken accusation. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, he retreated deeper into himself, a fortress built of silence and self-loathing.